Through the Long Nights
by dancewithdragons
Summary: The world where Robb Stark had not married Jeyne Westerling and broken his promise, where Sansa Stark had not wed or been whisked away, and where the King in the North had won, was the world that Aurora Frey was pushed into, stumbling blindly through the long nights. AU. Robb/OC. (Rated M)
1. Chapter 1

It was a cold day despite the sun's light casting a golden hue over the land, and there was barely a cloud in sight. Songbirds lived up to their name and wind tickled the snow that lay on the ground, picking it up and twirling it around as though each snowflake was dancing, waltzing. The rivers were full of chunks of crystal ice and the mountaintops were capped in white.

She'd expected the North to be more unforgiving than this, if truth be told, but when were things ever as she expected?

She had been told all of her life that she would be lucky to marry at all, but now she was marrying a king. She had been told all her life that she would be lucky if she were made a lady-in-waiting, but now she was to have her own ladies-in-waiting. She hadn't even been chosen by him, rather after he won his crown and his lands in the North he rode to home in Winterfell and wrote to her father, telling him to send whichever daughter he pleased to.

Aurora had been beyond shocked when her father had chosen _her_ to ride north and become the new queen. "You can be queen of winter and snow and death," he'd told her darkly. "And gods be good you can stay in your North forever."

She'd taken the offer with as much dignity as she could, concealing her wonderment. Any place was better than the Twins. Any place was better than home. Even the North, she supposed.

But now she was here, and she could see the great castle beyond, a dark figure in the horizon. It was still being rebuilt, but even still it was so tall and strong and foreign. "Quick work these northerners made on that castle," her brother commented, walking to her side.

She nodded. "These northerners are to be my people," she told him. "They will be my subjects, Wendel."

"Aye, they will," he said, then sighed. "Come, Aurora, we'll make it there while there is still daylight if we're lucky." He hoisted her onto her horse and pulled himself on his, both waiting for the rest of the procession to climb atop their steeds before riding even further north.

The closer they got the more nerves consumed her. She was to marry the King in the North, she was to be Queen in the North. She would have to wear a crown and stay in the North and be an example that men and women throughout the country would look up to. They were scary thoughts, and would be even scarier tasks- she wasn't sure if she could be the queen they wanted. If she could be the woman they would admire from afar and up close. She was thoroughly and wholly unsure of herself and the expectations held for her.

She turned to Wendel, and he must have seen the worry on her face for he rode closer to her and grabbed her hand with strength. They were twins, and she was positive that even if she hadn't moved to face him he would still know her worry, still feel her fears. She smiled up at him and exhaled the stress away, continuing on with his hand in hers. If he was to be there for only a matter of days, she would soak up all the strength he could give her, reserve it, save it for worse times.

A blare of trumpets and drums announced their arrival at the gates of the great northern fortress, and she removed her hand from her brother's. They could not see her taking solace in him. She would make sure they only ever saw her as a strong woman, even if she only ever felt nervous and meek.

"Lady Aurora of House Frey," cried a man dressed in deep grey. Another man helped her from her saddle, and yet another led her to the courtyard. "And her brother, Ser Wendel of House Frey." Her brother stood slightly behind her and to the side, as was appropriate, and she forced herself to steel, hold her chin high, and proceed to where they began shouting the names and titles of the remaining Starks and their household.

"Lady Catelyn Stark of House Tully, mother of the king and princess in the North!" Hollered one, and she swallowed hard before looking up to see the woman who sired her betrothed. The woman looked worn and tired, but becoming. Her hair was auburn, tied back in a loose braid with single strands falling out and framing her face. Skin pale as summer snow was covering her tightly, like she was still a young woman, though it was beginning to wrinkle in ways that were old. It was such a strange contradiction- as was the color of her eyes, blue and bright against her white skin and red hair, but complimenting the silver-blue gown she wore.

Bowing into a low curtsey, Aurora could feel the burning gaze on her. "Rise, Lady Aurora," Lady Stark commanded, and so she did. When she stood once more and her eyes found the woman's, she could see they were softened, and a small smile graced her lips. "Welcome to Winterfell."

"Thank you, my lady." She smiled back, and some of the tensity in the yard dissipated.

The announcer screamed again. "Lady Sansa of House Stark, Princess in the North and of the Riverlands!" She turned to the girl, only two years her junior, and felt her eyes widen. She looked very much like what Aurora imagined Lady Catelyn to look like in her youth, with cascading crimson curls and summer blue eyes that were both curious and intense. She was a beautiful girl, and suddenly the young Frey felt meek beside such a stunning pair of women.

And then came the name she was dread to hear. The name of the man she now wished she did not have to face. She wanted to run away and hide and cry and shout that she did not wish to be a queen. But she didn't. She obediently turned to him. "Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North and of the Riverlands, King of the First Men, Protector of the Winterlands and Warden of the North!"

She fell into another low curtsey, lower than the first, and felt the whispering caress of the cold air on her cheek, soaking through her thick gown and into her cloak until it reached her bones and licked at her skin. It took all of her strength not to shiver when she heard his voice. "Arise, my lady," he said, level and cool.

She rose. With all the dignity and grace she could emanate, she held herself higher and tilted her head up to look him in the eye. He was a tall man, strong built- of that she could tell even through his layers. He wore a black doublet with a white direwolf on the breast, and breeches that were deep blue, lined in onyx. His boots were mud caked and he wore a long thick cloak of grey. The crown on his head was of silver, coming up in points with pearls of the freshwater dotting the tips, like beads of snow. Other clear and white jewels circled the circumstance of the crown like it was sprinkled with the white crystals of winter, and after she finished thoroughly inspecting his garb her eyes reluctantly fell to his face.

He was already looking at her. In the eyes. His were blue and piercing and concentrated, hooded under brows as ruby as his thick mane, flattened slightly by his crown. His skin was pale and his lips were set in a firm line, as though he were unsure of what to think of her. The wolf beside him, however, seemed decidedly fine with her presence and she nodded to him._ Grey Wind_, she thought, as thought it were a whisper of smoke in her mind rather a name.

The whole crowd was silent, waiting for the judgement of their new queen, and Aurora had never felt smaller. She was standing there for their criticism, for their harsh eyes to inspect, to scan through. It was terrifying and nerve-wracking, and yet she was glad that it was happening now and not later on, that they were getting it out of the way.

Just when she thought he would say no more and the people of the welcoming crowd began to grow anxious, the king extended a hand and she hesitantly accepted it. "Winterfell," he said, tone no gentler than before though his eyes had softened, as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand, "is yours."

It was then that the men and women cheered and threw their hats into the air, shouting, clapping. They seemed so vicious only a moment ago, and she wondered if the were really glad that their king had accepted her, or were putting on a show. She supposed it didn't matter either way- she would be their queen and bear the princes and princess' of the North.

Wendel finally took his place by her side and gave her a nod of reassurance while King Robb retreated back into his castle. Princess Sansa followed silently, though looked at Aurora over her shoulder with kinder eyes than before. It was Lady Catelyn who took her hand and smiled. "You must be exhausted from your travels. Please, allow me to escort you to your chamber."

She looked to her brother and he bobbed his head, kissing her cheek and turning to lead their mounts to the stable. "Thank you, Lady Catelyn," she said quietly, offering a small smile.

They entered the castle arm in arm. It was mostly rebuilt but for the library and the Lord's Solar, explained the mother of her intended. "You must be terribly nervous," said the liege lady of Winterfell. "I know I was nervous when I first came here from Riverrun. When I was to marry Ned... We did not love each other at first, but it came in time. I think mayhaps in time... You and Robb could be so lucky."

Aurora grew tight-lipped and lowered her eyes. "I can only hope for so much, my lady."

Lady Catelyn ran a thumb over her knuckles as she took her hand and gave her a sad smile, continuing their walk in silence. When they reached a chamber, the door tall and wooden with a single ring to knock, the woman reassured that there would be ladymaids and gowns and warm bath water for her, so she could prepare for the feast to be held that night.

"Thank you." Aurora received a kiss on the cheek by her soon to be good-mother and entered her chamber, leaning against the door and just focusing on breathing. Thankfully her chamber was empty for the moment and she was blissfully alone.

She held her hand up before her and stared at the spot where King Robb's lips had graced it so whisper-soft, barely there but surely it had not been a hoax. She had expected common greeting and perhaps a welcome or two, not a kiss on the hand or a shelter into the castle by the liege lady herself. It was overwhelming in a way, but at the same time it was expected. The king could not be cold to his future queen.

There was a knock on the door, the ladymaids, and she inhaled deeply before pressing down her travel-stained gown and standing straight. "Come in," she called. The girls were of the north, one being tall and coltish, with a pointed chin and small ears only_ just_ visible through her braided brown hair. The other was pale with a thin body, and two long thick black braids on either side of her. She was younger than the other, that much was clear.

"My lady," they said, both giving her smiles. "I am Alys Thenn," the tall one stated.

"And I am Lyanna Mormont. We are to be your ladies-in-waiting," the other told her.

She gave each a nod and folded her hands in her lap. "I thank you both for your service," she said. "Do you think, perhaps, I could have a bath?" She asked, hating the timid sound to her when she had striven to seem so strong.

Lyanna nodded and quickly turned to leave while Alys began instructing the guards of the Crossing that had just arrived to place the trunks of her things into the corner of her room, so that she may begin to place the contents into the wardrobe, cabinets, and atop the vanity.

When the guards left, all familiar and all of her family- brothers or cousins or otherwise- Aurora was pulled from her muddy gown and her boots and stockings taken off until she was nude but for her clean shift, and she slowly sank into the hot water, feeling calm that in that moment, while she sat in the tub, room quiet as she lay there alone while her ladymaids put to work on putting her gowns away in the main chamber.

It was the first time in over three years that she felt peace.

* * *

The feast was bustling with liveliness. Men and women alike were well in their cups by the time that Aurora had dried and dressed in a gown of deep sapphire, lined in silver. Her House colors. Her hair had been pulled into a thick bun with strands escaping and falling around her face. Alys had assured it was a northern style, but without her hair around her shoulders and covering her like a cloak, she shivered.

She sat between Lady Catelyn and Wendel. There was idle chatter between her brother and the Lady of Winterfell, though over all their seats at the dais were the most silent in the room. Even the king was talking with his bannermen, laughing and drinking and glancing at her every so often. He stopped all laughing when he looked at her, and just stared for a moment, like she was a fragile piece of art for him to observe.

And if truth be told, that was what she was to be for the rest of her life. A visual aspect of the North and nothing more. She was not a powerful woman, never was and never would be. And perhaps she was okay with that. She wasn't sure she wanted the burden of being a ruler, equal to the man who would sit at her side. She wasn't sure if she could handle it.

Raising the chalice to her lips, she drank. It was a spicy wine, from Dorne she assumed, and it burned her lips and sizzled in the back of her throat- as well as dulled her mind. It brought her down from her nerves and loosened her, but she knew she was far from drunk. A future queen couldn't be allowed to be drunk in front of her subjects, if at all.

A hand was placed on her own, and she looked up to her brother. He was sober, having not touched a glass of wine since he arrived while she had helped herself to two now. "You're alright?" He asked, concern peppering his eyes.

She nodded, forcing herself to smile. "I'm fine," she replied. She knew he could see through her, though, and he leaned in close.

"Aurora, you're strong enough for the both of us. I would daresay you are strong enough for each and every once of our father's children. You will make it through this." He gave her a smile in return, but his was genuine whereas hers was artificial, a fraud.

Kissing his cheek, she felt her lips upturn with true-found happiness at his words. "And you are kind enough for all of them. Thank you."

There was a clearing of the throat and Aurora looked up to see a gaunt faced man with a long grey beard. "My lady," he said, reaching a hand towards her.

She raised a brow at first and stared at the hand for long before realizing that he was asking her to dance. "My lord," she returned, rising from her seat and making her way from the top of the platform. Once she was down she took his hand and he pulling her into a hearty dance right from the start.

She gasped and spun around with him, barely able to keep her feet on the ground as they twirled. So this was how they danced in the North. Brutish and fast and strong- just as they were themselves. "I'm Rickard Karstark, though I'm sure you know." She nodded and they continued to dance. "My daughter, Alys, she is your ladymaid. One of them, anyways."

"She's lovely, you should be proud." Aurora tried to smile, and it came easier than before. "My lord, I wonder what you might be able to tell me of... His Grace. I am in lack of knowledge of him." She peeked around the big man's forearm and noticed that King Robb was staring right at her, blue eyes bordering curiosity and forced disinterest. As if he were trying to not care.

"His Grace is a good man," Lord Rickard stated. "Foolish as a boy but war has hardened him. He's like his father, that one."

Aurora was spun away from him and pulled back in, and they kept on dancing. It was exhausting and when the music slowed and eventually stopped, she took time in catching her breath. "Thank you for the information, my lord. I greatly appreciate it." She felt flushed and tired and wanted to go to bed, but as Lord Rickard departed with a gruffness to his smile, another approached her. He was at a height with her, bearded, and somehow he looked strong.

"Lord Howland Reed," she greeted after much deliberation of his name in her mind. She had three years to do her research while the Starks were warring- all of her sisters as well- and she had studied hard, using the images provided to her by maesters and librarians and trying her hardest to understand the culture and the people.

The man smiled, as if impressed that she knew his name, and bowed his head. "My Queen," he replied.

"I am not queen yet," she insisted, "Lady Aurora is fine."

"It is best to place dues whenever you can. Besides, calling you the queen will become a natural thing, you must get used to hearing it." Lord Howland extended a hand and she accepted it. "A dance, My Queen?" She nodded, allowing a small smile to grace her lips. "There, a smile. You look best with them I must say."

She dared a laugh at that, and they soon began to swing along with the tunes of the North. After two dances with Lord Howland she bowed her thanks and made to return to her place between Lady Stark and her twin, but was caught by the wrist, the hand cool but sweating. She turned and grew wide eyed. "Your Grace," she gasped.

"I... wanted to ask for a dance." He looked awkward now where he once looked intimidating. The words seemed forced. "If it please you," he added, as if as an after thought.

Aurora raised a brow. "It is your right as King to dance with me," she said, voice quieter than she had hoped. "You need not ask my permission." Regardless, he only stared and waited for her answer. Finally she nodded, "It would please me."

His hand slid from her wrist down to her hand and a thumb brushed over her knuckles as she was led back onto the dance floor. The crowd of the feast hushed slightly at the sight of the king leading his future queen onto the floor, and even with the music playing, a slower song than before, the silence was noted.

She could see Princess Sansa watching them from her seat on the other side of Lady Catelyn, who smiled at them, however sadly. Wendel was giving her a nod of encouragement but she felt no alleviation.

The king pulled her close and held his arms around her waist, and hers lay on his shoulders. They were slow and moved jerkily, though they both tried hard to be graceful. Neither spoke, and while Aurora dared not eye him, she knew that he as staring at her. She could feel it.

When she music stopped and she looked up at him, he looked like he was about to speak, but must have thought better of it, bowing instead and leaving her in the middle of the floor as he retreated to the men he was previously conversing with. She stared after him for only a moment before she looked around the room and pursed her lips, quietly sinking back to the dais.

Wendel took her hand once she reached him, taking her place between he and the Lady of Winterfell. "That was good, you did well," he praised, smiling.

"I did as was expected," she replied modestly, taking the glass of spiced wine into her hand and drinking it, trying to melt the feel of the king's hands on her hips, of all the eyes on her. She was not made for such limelight. It unnerved her.

"My son is normally not as such," Lady Catelyn commented beside her. "He is just nervous, I believe."

_In that we are equally matched, at least_, Aurora thought. She nodded to the woman and thanked the serving man who set a pretty white plate etched with silver wolves before her. It was full of foods that were foreign to her. She usually ate a plentiful amount of fish and breads of honey wheat and other fresh catches from the crossing and the riverlands. But before her was forest-caught boar roasted in slick juices and rabbit and elk and deer, with small biscuits. She poked at the meats with her fork and looked to Lady Catelyn, who had come from the Riverlands as a girl to Winterfell. Perhaps she would know of the caution she held.

"It won't be hard to get used to, I promise." The auburn haired woman flashed a smile and forked a chunk of boar as if to prove her point, chewing heartily.

Aurora nodded slowly and looked back to the plate. She'd had these things before, but as she grew older her palette turned more to the oceanic foods than the earthy. She bit into a slice of elk and was pleasantly surprised when it burst into a garlic and spice flavor. She hadn't eaten that morn, nor during the first course, but now the dancing was over and they were serving the main course, and she realized just how hungry she was. Her belly cried out and she forced herself not to eat too fast. It wasn't worth having a full belly right away if she was going to have a stomach ache later.

After the meal was finished and the desserts of lemoncakes- for the Lady Sansa- chocolates, and honeyed apples were completed, Aurora sighed. She was no less relaxed than she had been when she entered the gates of Winterfell, no matter the three cups of spiced wine that she had polished off now. Beside her, Wendel was chatting away with a knight from a small House, and to her other side Lady Catelyn had vacated the seat, having taken the princess to bed hours ago.

"Wendel?" She rested a hand on his arm and pursed her lips. Immediately he turned an gave her his attention, raising a brow. "I'm tired... Will you walk me to my chamber?" It was a silly request. If she was as strong as he had said she was just hours before, then she should be able to walk to her own chambers, but she couldn't. She couldn't uproot herself from that spot unless Wendel was going with her.

His eyes, rich and brown like the earth, a perfect match to her own, softened and he held her hand in his, kissing the knuckles. "I will," he said before turning and giving his apologies to the knight. Once free of the conversation, he allowed her to take his arm and led her from the hall. Nobody stopped them or asked them to stay, just let them go- and for that Aurora was thankful.

He kissed her forehead when they reached her door and whispered a goodnight, and then she was alone. Her ladies-in-waiting had excused themselves after she told them she would not need them for the night.

The room was hot, too hot, and she quickly put out the fire, tearing off the gown that was too fine for her enjoyment. She pulled pins from her hair until the locks of cream tickled at the low of her shift, where the small of her back curved and avoided the fabric. Opening the windows to feel the breeze, she crawled into bed, curling into the furs and relaxing into the first bed she'd slept in since she began her travel over a sennight ago. It was cozy and the breeze kissed her like it did when she lived in the Twins. Home wasn't a place she wanted to remember, but it was a place that made her feel most comforted now that she was in a place that was foreign but not foreign.

That night she fell asleep to the sound of the wind, drunken men parading around the castle, and the howling of a certain ash grey direwolf.


	2. Chapter 2

The day was frigid and frost was sparkling atop of the dead grass and the dried mud, winter snow sprinkled over the trees and capping the buildings that surrounded Winterfell. All her life she'd dreamed the day of her wedding to be sunny and bright with birds singing and butterflies kissing her hair as she walked along the castle grounds. But most of the birds had flown to Dorne and beyond, where they would stay while the winter's cold fingers continued to creep over the lands. The butterflies were dead.

Aurora sat at her window in the early dawn, watching the lavender sun peek through the gaps of the silver mountains, beholding what she would wake up to every morning. This was to be her home, her palace. Every pine off of a tree would be hers, every blade of grass. Reaching up slowly, she touched a pale fingertip to the glass pane and exhaled, watching as the area around her finger grew a dodgy grey, fogged like the grounds below.

It was a view of beauty, a view that any lady would be lucky to call her own, but she felt nothing. It was not a bitter indifference, only a true one. These lands should not belong to her, a daughter to one of the most jested about lords in the seven kingdoms, whose mother was rumored to be an adulteress to the Black Walder. Her own uncle. They were vicious lies, of course, but just the hint of it made a mark on her name. Perhaps her sister Roslin should have been his bride, pretty as she was with hair like molasses and eyes to match. The gap in her front teeth only made her charming, and she was the most gentle of women. Roslin was sweet. She would make a good queen- more so than Aurora herself, she was sure.

But her father had talked of wedding sweet Roslin to Edmure Tully, to secure stronger bonds to the royal family. It was a smart move, practical, but she couldn't help wondering what it would be like if it were her marrying the Lord of Riverrun rather the King in the North._ I'd be a better lady than a queen_, she thought, the truth of it cutting her like a knife. It seemed to her as though she was depriving King Rob of what he could have in another wife. A better wife.

Inevitably, however, she would be his wife and queen, and she would have to smile through the day until her cheeks hurt. What queen did not grin and bear it for the sake of her subjects? She would do all it took for them to like her, to gain their love and respect as not only their monarch but as a woman.

There was a soft knocking on the door and it moaned as it was softly pushed open. In came the two women she met the night before, when she arrived in Winterfell. Lyanna Mormont went to the bed, making it up and taking the chamber pot away while Alys Thenn came to her, helping her down from the window sill and pulling a heavy velvet robe of black over her shoulders, leading her to the bathing chamber. Other maids walked in as well, throwing multiple curtains back from windows she had not gotten the chance to explore yet, and wouldn't be able to. The previous night was the first and last she would spend in a chamber that was not shared with her husband.

The maids were all carrying different things, from scent extracts to soaps and lathers to powders and rouges. It was like as the sun rose so did every servant in the North, all attending to her. Their presence made her uncomfortable and she looked not one in the eye as she was undressed to the bare skin and was helped into the tub. They worked diligently on her skin, prattling on about how beautiful she would look and how lucky she was and that King Robb was a good man. The comments made her no less at ease, and she in fact felt more queasy as they chattered amongst themselves.

It was a great honor to be the wife of a king, said one of the maids, who scrubbed each inch of her until she was pink and raw, skin growing sore, wrinkled. Another stated that her brother had been working in the forge for a moon to make the circlet that Aurora would wear.

Her lady-in-waiting, Lyanna Mormont, reentered the room and frowned at the young ladymaids. "You will hold your tongues unless spoken to," she commanded, sounding stronger than her thirteen years.

All of those that had been talking before ceased, pursing their lips and nodding to her as she strode to Aurora and shooed away the woman that began to lather her hair, claiming she'd do it herself. Rolling her sleeves up, she began to work on the curls, color of a likeness with buttermilk. It was not long before Aurora was as clean as she would get, and with the help of Lyanna and Alys, she rose from the tub, her pink-scrubbed feet grown so soggy that walking took more effort than it ever had.

She stumbled into the main chamber and they sat her in front of the vanity, just barely pulling a robe over her shoulders. Would this be her life in Winterfell? Pampered and prodded and poked like a calf being weened, forced from the familiar? As she stared at herself in the foggy looking glass, she could not have felt more incompetent. Her cream curls were not rich or luscious, and her skin was not kissed by foreign suns. Her brown eyes had no flecks of green or gold or red, but were like the plain earth.

And yet, she was to be a monarch, a lesser woman only to Lady Selyse Baratheon, Queen in the South. She wondered at times, what life would be like if King Robb had not made a match between he and King Stannis to overthrow the dowager queen and her son borne of incest, what life would be like if Lady Sansa was not found hiding in her chamber of the Red Keep as they stormed it.

Those, however, were only questions and curiosities. His Grace had in fact joined forces with the king of flames and red gods, and they had taken Westeros with a fury. Lady Sansa _had_ been found and had been brought home to Winterfell.

Aurora couldn't imagine it was easy or liberating for any of them to be home, if that was what they could call it now. It contained the ghosts of those they loved; Rodrick Cassel, Jory Cassel, and the great Eddard Stark among others. They all lived here through the memories of the well, and shadowed them. Perhaps it would be as so if she were to go back to the Twins, only to find all her loved ones dead. But then again, perhaps not. She had love for few in her family, they being Wendel, Roslin, and sweet little Shirei, her youngest sister. She might have even found peace in their deaths.

She sighed as the maids ran a silver plated brush encrusted with diamonds and sapphires through her hair until it fell to her waist in soft spirals. They pulled parts back and braided them, pinning it like a crown on the back of her head while the rest was left down- maiden brides always wore their hair down, her mother had taught her when she was but a girl. It was a sign of their purity.

Once her hair had been completed, they piled on powder after powder, and then pasted rouge to her cheeks and lips. She looked like a frail doll, fragile and weak, not at all strong and queenly. _Perhaps they do not want a strong queen, when they have as much in their king_? It was not a far fetched thought.

"You look so beautiful," praised Alys, who smiled kindly beside her. Aurora nodded, not able to find words. Whatever it was that she looked with all of that cover up and paint, it was not beautiful.

They dressed her in a gown of fine crisp white, sewn in with freshwater pearls and silver silk, the bodice and skirt alike made of fresh myrish lace and ribbons as pale as the moonlight. It fit her snugly, hugging her waist and pushing her breasts up until she nearly couldn't breathe. The maids shoved heavy and sharp pins in her hair, where the top of the braid-crown sat, and pulled the alabaster taffeta over her face, hiking white gloves over her pale hands and helping her into shoes of crystal. She felt like a plaything, dressed for the amusement of others with no emotion. She _wanted_ to cry and scream, but would she? Never.

"There," Lyanna said. "You look like a queen if I ever did see one. Are you ready?"

She hadn't had a moment to collect her thoughts since they'd barged in, and certainly wasn't ready. In fact, she hadn't even had a bite to eat since last night at the feast. But she smiled and nodded anyways, dipping her head to them. "Of course," she said. The words sounded forced even to her own ears, and she pursed her lips once more before allowing them to lead her to the wolfswood, where she and the king would be wed before gods and men.

* * *

They gave her flowers she had never seen before, and she stared intently at them as she waited for the harp to play so that she could begin her ascent into the forest. Wendel stood at her side, and she could feel him eying her.

"Winter roses," he told her, fingering a petal of silver-blue. It was a beautiful bunch of flowers. One could not pick a better name for them. "They were the favorite of His Grace's aunt, Lyanna Stark."

"Lyanna Stark." Aurora tasted the name on her tongue. It felt icy, almost like a cold chill became of her lips. "She was the greatest northern woman that Winterfell has seen, they say. How am I ever to live in her shadow? To walk in her steps?"

"You won't be walking in her steps," Wendel replied. "You will be creating fresh tracks in this snow, as the first queen in the north for centuries. Lyanna Stark was a woman, a lady, but you are to be a high queen. You, my sweet sister, are to be a _force_. And one to be reckoned with." Her twin gave her a reassuring smile and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, where the veil was just beginning to flow like a waterfall of snow down to the bottom of her gown, already browning from the mud._ What a shame_, she though sadly. _It was such a pretty gown_.

The first strings of the silver harp were plucked and she felt her heart tighten. Her fate was about to be sealed, just like that. Like a snap of the fingers. She was to be queen of a man she did not know and knew could not love her. She was the daughter of an old and brittle lord. She was not so pretty as Lady Sansa or Lady Catelyn or even her own sister, Roslin. She should not be his queen- but she was to be.

Wendel tugged on her arm, urging her forward, and she held her breath as she began to step further into the woods, lords and ladies on either side of her and Robb waiting in front of the giant weirwood. He was not looking at her, but at the empty spaces behind him, where his family should stand- but there was only Lady Sansa and Lady Catelyn. Lord Eddard was gone, little Lady Arya had disappeared, and the small lords, Bran, and Rickon, had been killed by Theon Greyjoy, a man turned of cloak and found dead in the crypt of Winterfell. His bastard brother Jon Snow was said to be at the Wall, but with no word from or of he was assumed missing.

And she had no family but Wendel, who was helping her walk beside the trees to where her intended stood.

"Who does give this woman," asked the maester, a man that was not so old but was wrinkled in a way.

Her brother stepped forward and smiled. "I, Ser Wendel of House Frey, give my sister, Lady Aurora of House Frey," he said, loud and clear and calculated.

"And do you consent, Lady Aurora?"

She looked up and knew her eyes visibly widened, though none could see through her veil. "I..."_ I want to run away_, she thought._ I want to flee._ "I do."

The maester nodded and smiled. "Please, relieve the bride of her maiden's cloak." Her brother stepped behind her and she felt a tear roll down her cheek as he slowly unclasped the cloak of sapphire with two grey towers sewn onto it. Once it was off of her she had to clench her teeth to stop from shivering. It was bitterly cold- but she was also scared.

Scared- yes she would own up to it. Her heart was thumping like thunder and she felt the weight of all of her decisions on her shoulders. Every single one. From when she chose to wear the blue dress instead of the green on her first memorable name day, to when she allowed her father to make a match betwixt she and Robb Stark.

"And the bridecloak please, Your Grace."

The King in the North stepped forward and in his hands was a heavy cloak of silver, a white direwolf made of pearls, diamonds, and ivory silk blazon on the back. His hands crept from her elbows up to her shoulders, and he rubbed small circles there with his thumbs, urging her to relax as he clasped the cloak to her. She tried to, truly, and let her shoulders fall slightly when he stepped away.

They said their words and as soon as it began it was over.

"I now proclaim you Aurora Stark, in the sight of gods and men," announced the maester. Every man, woman and child that had stood witness cheered and King Robb- her husband- pulled her veil back to press a kiss to her lips. It was chaste and he quickly pulled away. Some of her rouge was on his mouth and she hesitantly reached a hand up to wipe it away, but he was too quick and rubbed it off with the back of his hand.

And then the veil was removed completely, handed to her brother, and the king was extending his arms above her head, weight collecting above her hair. _My crown_. She bowed before him and when she arose, he was bowing for her too. _We are equals now, _she thought.

A light peppering of snow kissed her cheeks as they made their way to the main hall for the feast, her eyes downcast. It was that simple. She was a wife. She was a_ queen_. Her father's voice found its way into her mind then, old and raspy and bitter.

"You please him, girl, and you please him_ well_. He's king here now, and he can find a new queen as quickly as a snap of the fingers. And if he _does_ want a new wife, you best keep in mind that you won't be welcome here anymore. You or any of the bastards that you might have." He'd said it with such diction and promise that she had only been able to nod silently and leave him to his brooding.

The time was drawing nearer now, the time for her to please him, and she could feel herself tense again as she was helped to her seat on the dais by Wendel, who sat just a seat away from her, Princess Sansa between them. Lady Catelyn was on King Robb's left, Aurora herself on his right. Food was being served, the meats from the night before as well as a few sea dishes. When offered a plate of salmon, however, she shook her head. She could never prove herself to be a northerner- even through marriage- if she continued to eat the food of her homeland, though it wasn't all so different.

She watched as the music began and people were pulled onto the dance floor. Even Wendel had asked the princess to dance. The pretty girl smiled with propriety and took his hand, allowing him to help her from her seat and walk her down to the center of the crowd, and just as they had made it down, Lady Catelyn was asked to dance by Lord Manderly, the man her father had called Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse.

It was just she and Robb alone, side by side, and she forced herself to put on a smile._ A queen must always show happiness for her subjects_, she recited in her mind, _a__nd today it begins_.

Taking a drink of wine, she looked down at her plate and made an effort to appear to enjoy the meal, though it was so fatty and strange in her mouth. She continued to chew deliberately until the plate was nearly polished clean and her wine goblet was empty. It was then that she felt a hand over her own. "My queen," said her husband. _How queer to call him that_, she thought to herself as she turned to look at him. "Would you like to dance?" He asked.

"Aurora," she said before she could stop herself. "My... my name is Aurora."

His lips tightened and he nodded. "Of course." The king looked tired and perhaps sad, his blue eyes darkened.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, if I am out of line by saying this, but you need not dance with me out of duty." She folded her napkin and placed it on the table, threading her fingers together as she placed them in her lap and sat up straighter. King Robb frowned and she pursed her lips, quickly working to amend herself. "I am sorry, Your -"

"- please, there is no need to apologize. I know you must be... overwhelmed. In that we are a match. But I do want to make you feel comfortable here. Winterfell will be your home."

She simply stared at him for a moment, taking in his words. "Anywhere that isn't the Crossing is home to me," she said, and he looked stricken, but soon the expression turned soft and he covered her hand again.

"Perhaps it's time for bed."

* * *

She was carried from the hall by a barrage of men, her boots flung into the depths of the hall and her gown ripped down her back until it slid away and she was left in her shift and crown, gloves torn away, nearly naked and being shoved into a foreign room.

It was red-washed from the roaring fire in the hearth, and she could hear laughter of lords and ladies alike as she turned her back to the door, exhaling deeply. She had been stripped of the pretty cloak of silver and white, and while the fires were blazing she still felt cold. Her hands found their way to her shoulders and she looked out the window, where the moon way full and bright, glimmering like a million diamond facets.

Stars of gold glowed around the sphere of ivory, all against a sky of sapphire. It was like she was staring into a jewelry box, each gem striving to be brighter than the next, all set on a piece of blue velvet. When her eyes started to roam the room did she notice the looking glass above a vanity, and she was drawn to it, curious to see herself with a crown on her head.

Initially she thought it was not her. The woman in the glass was covered in powders and her lips looked like blood. The crown was a circlet, simple with three intertwining strands of silver that dipped low on her forehead, to a point that was jeweled with a bright white pearl. It was fit for a true woman, not the jester she saw in her reflection.

Taking a small towel from the side of the vanity's table top, she dipped the cloth in water and rubbed away the paints and powders until her face was recognizable, and it was then that she heard the door open, close, and lock.

She dabbed her face dry and stood straighter, arms wrapping themselves around her upper body until each hand held a shoulder. Audible footsteps carried through the room, two hands covered the ones she held on her shoulders, and a face leaned in beside hers, looking into the mirror. They were an odd looking pair; he was red haired and blue eyed and pale, whereas she had hair like butter, with brown eyes and skin slightly darker than his own. An odd looking pair, but not so bad.

"If you prefer the powders and paints, my king, I can call for a maid," she said immediately, pursing her lips.

"No," he replied, voice low. "I prefer you without them." He stood back and slowly he turned her to face him. He was closer than she expected and his hot breath warmed her face, wisps of her hair blowing back. His hands moved from her shoulders to her neck, then they slid slowly up to her cheeks and her temple until they reached the crown. Carefully, he lifted it from her head and placed it on the vanity. When he dipped his head down, she knew it was her turn.

King Robb wore nothing but a light tunic with breeches, no boots or cloak or overcoat. Even his belt had been discarded. She gulped. Cautiously, her hands landed flat on his chest and slid up his body and across his collarbone, then back along his shoulders and up his neck, around his jaw and through his hair until her fingertips touched the cool metal and she lifted it from his head, placing it beside her own on the vanity.

Without his crown, the King in the North looked like a mere man, and she watched his body relax as he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Better," he breathed, and she nodded agreement. Her crown was nowhere near as heavy as his, and she'd not worn it nearly as long, but it was already troublesome. She supposed she would need time to get used to it.

From his hair, her hands trailed along his biceps and down to his hands, then back up and across his underarm to his ribcage, exploring. His hands ran along her body as well, from her cheeks to her neck, down the dip of her waist and up her back. Before she knew it their faces were just hair widths apart, and she held her breath as she looked up at his eyes, blue as a summer sky. He was already staring.

Leaning down further, the king pressed his lips to hers, ever so featherlight. For a moment they just stayed like that, perfectly still, but then she felt him pull away and when she opened her eyes again he was standing by the bed. She knew then. It was time.

Stepping towards him, she tugged at a curl, biting her lip. _You please him, girl, and you please him well, _came her father's harsh voice once more. It was then that she dipped into the reserve of strength that she had, to use on the task at hand.

Hesitantly she mapped her hands on his chest before lifting the tunic from where it was tucked into the breeches, pulling it over his head and off of his arms. His bare skin was marred with light marks, all scars from three long years of war. His turn came and she pursed her lips as he knelt down and fingered the bottom of her shift, where it rested against her knees. Slowly, he dragged the thin fabric up with him as he rose, revealing her nude body.

Her breath hitched as his rough thumb pad graced just under her breast, and he placed a bent finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. They were questioning. Was this okay?

She nodded and slowly her fingertips trailed up his arms and to his face, where she cupped his cheek and tried to smile. This was what she had three years to prepare for. This was what she had been anticipating since her father had chosen her above all her other sisters and cousins and nieces to become queen. Standing on her toes she wrapped her arms around his neck and decided not to play a docile deer anymore as she planted her lips on his, far more firm than when he'd kissed her prior.

He kissed her back, not with fire or fury, but with a slow and tantalizing pace that made her heart beat just a little faster. Her fingers worked their way into his hair and she felt his hands roam her skin. The kiss deepened and Aurora felt as he pulled her closer, carefully bringing them both down to the bed.

Her hands made the slow descent from around his neck, in his hair, to his back and then his bottom, where she began to slide down his trousers. After a moment of her pushing, he assisted, gliding them off.

It was then that she took him in, in all of his glory. He looked ever bit a king with his muscles and tough exterior, supple skin dipping underneath her fingertips as she allowed her hands to roam his body. He truly was handsome.

The kings eyes were glued to her as well, to her breasts, to her stomach, to her lower half. Their gaze trailed from her toes to where the tips of her ears were visible, hair splayed around her on the pillow, and then to her lips. He leaned in once more and claimed them with more strength than before, fisting his hands in her hair and pressing against her.

She gasped against his mouth and before long she was kissing back, a warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach as one of his hands found its way to her breast, cupping it tenderly and kneading. The other hand he used to prop himself up as he reached down with the hand that had now left her breast bare to touch her in her most private place.

At first he just ran his fingertip up the length of it, and hesitantly he pushed between the folds. They locked eyes again and she could see her fear reflected back at her. May the gods give her strength, she prayed silently as another finger slid past the barrier and both began to work, slow at first but then insistent as she began to grip his back tighter.

Though the movements he made were awkward and jerky, there was pleasure to be felt and she let out a whisper of a moan as he slipped one of the fingers into her- just slightly, but enough to make her close her eyes. And then the finger was gone and suddenly she felt something much larger pressing at her entrance.

Biting her lip, she readied herself. Only to be brought out of the iron shield she was beginning to up by the sound of his voice. "Look at me," he said, sounding hoarse from what she hoped was lust and not annoyance. There was nothing of command in the words he spoke.

With fluttering eyelids, she did as she was told, raising her chin and looking him square in the eye. "Are you sure you want this?" He asked her.

"I want whatever it is that my king wants," she replied, raising a brow. He was a high king, living with a title and name that gave him the right to take without care. Why would he bother asking what she wanted? Besides, this was a duty not only to each other but to the realm. Their marriage bed would be the birthing place of future princes and princesses. Of kings. Wanting or not wanting was not of matter. There only was to _do_.

He stared at her for a moment and then nodded, pressing a palm to her cheek, for comfort she supposed, before he grasped himself and carefully pushed into her.

The pain wasn't as bad as her sisters and cousins had told her it would be, but she could still feel the pinch, the burning. As he began to pull out she looked away, trying desperately not to hiss. This felt so much worse, like he was dragging out of her after rubbing her raw. But the palm on her cheek pushed her face back so that they were eye to eye, and she could feel his thumb pull across her cheek as he wiped a tear from under her eye.

He slid back into her and she winced, moving uncomfortably underneath him as he went back out and back in, his hand forcing her to hold his stare. It was like he was trying to keep her there to make sure she was still herself, and that her face would not become anothers in the throes of his pleasure. It was then that she remembered Jeyne Westerling, the woman that he'd fallen in love with during the early stages of his rebellion. She was told the girl was pretty, with chestnut curls, a heart shaped face, and large brown eyes, slender of figure. Who would not fall in love with her?

She wondered, as he worked above her, what could have happened had his mother not stopped them before they could wed in the secret of the night. _She would have been queen and I a simple girl to gawk at her, and the North would have a ruler beloved by all_.

Her mind slowed as the pain dissipated and soon she found herself with her arms wrapped around his waist, her leg hiked up his thigh. He was muttering something under his breath, fighting not to close his eyes at the feeling, and she was gasping, nails digging crescent moons in his flesh. Gone was the pain, for with each new thrust was a new pleasure, centered in the pit of her belly with a tingling sensation that was strange but welcomed all the same.

With their moans filling the room as much as the smoke of the fire and the silver film of the moon's light, the king and queen, a title Aurora was sure she would never get used to, fell into a tangle atop the furs. Hot breath and heaving chests were all that remained of them, intertwined like they were one, and she wasn't sure if she was already dreaming or not when he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, whispering something so quietly.

In the morning she could hear his words clearly, like sirens, as she sat up in their bed alone, touching the bloodied sheet tenderly. His side had long gone cold._"My name is Robb,"_ he had murmured against her forehead._ "Just Robb."_


End file.
